A Musical Interlude
by Wee Ree
Summary: Regency - BBC Mini Series. A musical interlude at Pemberley after dinner. What if Miss Darcy wasn't the only member of her family with a musical talent.
1. Chapter 1

As she finished her song she held his eyes. As the applause diminished she forced her eyes away, unwilling to create too much speculation from those in the room. Her gaze fixed upon the violin in the stand. It was obviously of quality but used and loved. The stings were taut, the wood shined with oil and the bow's horse hair strings were dulled with rosin.

"Is the violin another of your talents Miss Darcy?" She asked her companion. The girl started and lowered her eyes.

"No Miss Bennet, I do not play. I have never learnt." She glanced over to her brother who was talking to the Gardiners. Then said in a timid tone "My family has always been musical" She paused. Elizabeth smiled at her new young friend hesitant attempt at conversation.

"So if it is not your instrument then…" Her surprised eyes turned toward Mr Darcy then they turned mischievous "Perhaps I should request a song."

"Oh please do not Miss Bennet." She leaned forward and pressed Elizabeth's hand. "He generally plays only for himself, occasionally when I am playing he will join me but…" Elizabeth was earnest in her reply.

"I am sorry Miss Darcy, I only mean to tease. It is my way and gets me into trouble more often than not. Though I may tease him a little perhaps." The poor girl looked both horrified and interested.

"Of what are you talking…What are you saying to Miss Darcy?" Seeing the intimate nature of their conversation Miss Bingley interrupted, wishing to break any friendship that may be forming. Darcy immediately found Elizabeth's eyes and with a grin, he surreptitiously rolled his eyes as he once had done in another drawing room. She met his eyes, her eyes sparkling with amusement but she repressed a grin, instead she turned and smiled to the questioning lady and replied.

"We speak of music, Miss Bingley and how talent is often finds itself present in more than one member of the family." She paused and her eyes lit with mischief. "Perhaps you can assist us in our discussion Miss Bingley. I know you and Mrs Hurst have a great talent with the piano forte, I wonder if your brother shares that talent."

Mrs Hurst laughed outright at the suggestion "Charles…he can barley play a simple child's tune. He always declared the piano a girl's instrument." Her brother looked a little piqued. Elizabeth stood and turned towards the gentleman asking him.

"Perhaps your talent lies in another instrument, Mr Bingley. One that is not too feminine for your sensibilities. You are a singer perhaps, a flutist, or perhaps the violin is where your talents lie." At the piano Miss Darcy fidgeted.

"I have no instrument Miss Bennet, though I do enjoy music very much I can't profess to have a talent in it."

"Your sister has privileged us with her excellent playing, Mr Darcy. Do other members of your family possess such talents?

"Colonel Fitzwilliam, whom you have met, enjoys playing the guitar."

"What of yourself Mr Darcy, do you possess a musical talent?" She was fully aware that the violin behind her in plain sight of Mr Darcy. He looked from Elizabeth Bennet's teasing face to his sisters' anxious face.

"You have found me out, Miss Bennet ...or perhaps I was exposed." He smiled at his sister who now looked quite ashamed.

"What do you play Mr Darcy, we would dearly love to hear you." Came the request from Miss Bingley.

"The violin isn't Darce? You have carrying around that thing since school. Though I've rarely had the privilege of hearing you play." His friend noted. Darcy, looked to his friend and then about the room. Gathering his courage he stood and approached the ladies.

"Since my dear sister and Miss Bennet have taken it upon themselves to given away my secrets I demand retribution." The younger women looked frightened but reconciled, the older one, amused.

"What is your punishment Sir, I am not afraid of you." She smiled but it faulted slightly at the returning grin.

"Perhaps you should be." He said to her quietly. Breaking eye contact he leafed through the sheets of music on the piano before pulling out his choice. "You know it Miss Bennet" She nodded. "Then you shall sing as my sister accompanies us on the piano." She wisely accepted her punishment and placed the music on the piano.

She then watched as he gently placed the instrument under his chin. His long elegant fingers flexed and tested their position at the neck of the instrument. He plucked one string and was answered immediately from the piano with an A. He quickly and confidently tuned each string to the correct pitch. As he reached for the bow Elizabeth saw him surreptitiously wipe his hand against the cloth that lay over it.

He brought it into position and nodded to his sister then caught Elizabeth's eye as the first note from the piano played. From that look he drew strength as they joined the piano.

Their harmony, though unpractised, was almost faultless. The quality of the two musicians blended well with the natural instinct of the singer. The audience could only listen in a reverent silence. The song told the story of a steadfast love, of a love that would endure through adversity. Elizabeth faltered for a moment when she met Mr Darcy's eye. Moving her eye back to the music she recovered well but her eyes did not stray again to the gentleman's face until the end of the song. Then as the final note passed away Elizabeth could only watch in wonder at the passion that filled this man's face. In the momentary silence that followed he raised his eyes once more to hers. The message in his eyes was unmistakable. Her surprised gasp was covered by the enthusiastic applause from the audience.

Mr Darcy took her hand and that of his sisters into the crook of his arms and moved them towards the rest of the company. She heard none of the accolades, she only felt the residual tingle of warmth of the hand that he had rested in the crook of his arm. She was moved slightly out of her daze by the request by Mr Bingley to sing again and only had enough conscious thought to reject the idea. Brother and sister performed one more song as a duo, a quick happy tune that made the company smile.

Miss Bingley was entreated to entertain the company and readily accepted, hoping, perhaps, that another duo would be performed. Disappointingly she played alone.

The party broke up soon after, Mrs Gardiner sighting an early engagement with an old friend. As the carriage pulled away Elizabeth could not help but turn. On the face of the Master of Pemberley was the same look that had stolen her breath earlier. She smiled gently in return.


	2. Chapter 2

He stood at the window over looking Grosvenor Square. A single candelabra on the piano and the low embers from the fire were the only illuminations for the room. Across the square a large house was gaily alight, occasionally carriages would come and go as revellers join the ball. If you strained your ears you could hear the music of the dances. It was the music that drew him to the window. He could barely hear the refrain through the glass. He reached and opened the clasp of the window. The chilled night air blew quickly into the room, extinguishing three of the five candles burning. William Darcy took no notice, the breeze brought with it the melody he had strained to hear. Mr Beveridge's Maggot.

In his mind eye he was no longer in London. He was at Netherfield dancing with Elizabeth Bennet and she was just an arms length away. He could smell her scent, watch her smile, press her hand.

The wheels of a passing carriage shook him out of his reverie. With a start he noticed the chill in the room. He closed the window and drew the blinds. Humming to himself he banked the fire and added several logs. He sat down at the piano and relit the candles but did not play. He gathered several sheets of manuscript that lay on the piano closer to him and began to transcribe the notes he hummed.

It was an obsession, a labour of love, a catharsis. An indulgence he had not allowed himself in years. When he was younger, first learning music, he use to play for his mother. When she was ill he would play her happy tunes to buoyed her sprit. When she was melancholy he would play sad sweet songs that would make her hold him tight. As he grew a little older and a little more proficient he would make up his own tunes to gladden his mothers heart. When she was well she would sit with him, she at the piano, and he on the violin. They would compose together. Soon his talents out grew hers. Masters came to Pemberley teach him the skill and he employed them diligently.

When he went away to school he was able to indulge his passions on occasion. When George Wickham was his roommate he would have hours by himself when the other young man was gallivanting around, getting into mischief. Later when his roommates changed, his studies grew harder and he started to spend time with like minded gentleman, he found that his violin would lay idle for months, his manuscripts unfinished.

Yet in his darkest hours or when life became too much, this was the release he sort. To him it was as reverent as pray. In his playing he found peace. A connection to self and God that he found in nothing else. This blasphemous notion had worried him for many years until he confessed his ideas to a philosophy fellow.

"God is found in all things, and prayer takes many forms. Why would God in His infinite glory create a world with such variety and then only want us to worship Him in one way. The traditions of the Church are important, they allow us to praise and worship, but He gave you a gift. If you neglect that gift you deny God your strongest prayers."

His mentors words had touched him and stayed with him still. Yet he knew that he had neglected his gift and denied himself and God his most reverent prays over the last few years.

When his father died he mourned through music. He spent hours and days playing until his fingers were too numb to hold the bow. However the stresses and responsibilities of Master, Landlord, Guardian and Brother had often outweighed the needs of self and God. It was as he was leaving for that first fateful trip to Netherfield that he impulsively asked his valet to ensure that his instrument was packed. At Netherfield he exorcised his demons and played through his guilt and worries over Georgiana and his anger with himself and Wickham.

It was through his music that he first understood the danger that Elizabeth represented. It was through his music that he was able to express his thoughts, feelings, fears and hopes. His violin travelled with him constantly now. And now, even though his future with Elizabeth was so uncertain, he found his peace in his music.

Tonight, as twilight had set on the day of Wickham's marriage to Lydia Bennet, he was a man possessed. For months he had a tune that had been turning over and over in his head. It had driven him to distraction; phrases, refines and themes tumbled into each other haphazardly. It wasn't till the interlude at Pemberley that it had started to crystallize. It was a duet for piano and violin.

It started with the piano and the violin, two unrelated, unconnected melodies. Then_,_ from nothing, out of nothing, came the interest, the attraction, the longing. The violin starts to echo the piano, starts to follow its tune. They then start to interact. He recalls the quick witted arguments they shared and in the melody the piano and the violin spar.

He borrowed on themes on occasion, in the music you could hear a whisper of songs he related to her. He added, now, a hint of the Maggot. The lower hand of the piano played the tune while the upper hand conversed with the violin. He remembered the awkward conversation, his short responses, the unvoiced passion.

Then next refine told of his leaving, his longing while he was in London and his prideful belief that he did the right thing. Here the violin played an unaccompanied melody. He knew now that she had never though of him in that time. Soon the song moved to Kent. The piano returns and the instruments start to spar again. In the violin you hear the longing, in the piano apathy.

Then came the proposal. William Darcy cast his soul into this phrase. Here he gave over ever ounce of passion, pride, bitterness, hurt, discomfort and love. He allowed the music to sooth. He asked for forgiveness; from God, from Elizabeth, from himself.

As Darcy transcribed the final notes of the disastrous proposal the first rays of sunlight peaked through the curtains. Below stairs you could hear the servants of the house hold begin to raise. Outside the streets began to stir as milkman and bakers delivered their wares and late night revellers slowly made their way home.

He continued on unfazed and uninterrupted. His knocker was off the door, Georgiana was still at Pemberley and he had no business that would interrupt him. He worked on for days, eating sporadically and sleeping only when exhaustion drove him to it. He barely left the room.

Then to his immense frustration he hit a wall. Nothing would come. There was no notes, no melody, no inspiration. He sat at the piano, violin in hand, manuscript before him and … nothing. It wasn't finished, he knew there was more but nothing would come.

He sat there for a time, frozen in his seat, stagnant. Slowly he came out of the haze. He became increasingly aware of the pressure and discomfort in his lower regions. It had been some time since he availed himself of the nearby wash room. As he sat their trying to decide whether it was worth the effort to move he became aware of the gnawing sensation in his gut. It had been some time since he availed himself to food. He took a deep breath to sigh but instead wrinkled his nose in discussed. It had been some time since he availed himself to a bath and the attentions of his valet. Knowing there was nothing would come of staring at the music in front of him he rose awkwardly from the piano stool and made his way upstairs.

Latter, after he had washed, dressed and ate a light meal, he sat by the fire in his study sipping his port. All the agitation of the last year had fallen away to nothing. As he contemplated the flames he mulled over the setback with his music. He had added to the song the painful time after Kent, his soul searching, their meeting at Pemberley, the hope that had grasped his heart after the evening at his home. He had added the distressing morning at Lambton and the hunt for Wickham and Lydia.

Eventually a thought occurred to him. He had no more song because what had started at Pemberley, the hope he felt there, never had the opportunity to flourish. The story had not finished.

Fidgeting restlessly in his seat he got up he wandered about the room to the window. He gazed over the square. Afternoon was turning into evening. The house across the way, which was alight several nights before, lay dormant. Carriages passed moving from place to place, well dressed people strolled by and servants scurried about their masters business. For the first time in days Darcy felt and inclination for company. Darcy moved to his desk to see what cards and invitations had come. There were very few as few knew he was in town. His uncle, his cousin, a few friends and a few hangers on. He smiled as he pulled out one of the cards from the pile. Mr C. Bingley Esq. had called. The scrawled note on the back said he arrived back in town yesterday afternoon and asked Darcy to call at his convenience.

Darcy sat down at his desk to write a note in reply. He asked Bingley to meet him at the club for dinner. He passed into the hall giving his message to the footman and ask for his valet to be called. As he made his way upstairs Darcy hummed a hopeful tune.

4


	3. Chapter 3

Darcy fussed with the manuscript on the stand after he settled his sister down at the piano. His gut clenched, anxiety rippled through him. He had never, ever put himself in this position. Exposed himself like this. He had played for others before, the night Elizabeth and the Gardiners were at Pemberley for instances, at college with his friends, but rarely his own music. His sister, who was just as reluctant to play in company, smiled in encouragement. He smiled weakly back in return.

He looked about Netherfield's drawing room. The Bennet's and their extended families, the Gardiners' and the Phillips', were in attendance. As well as some of the principle families from Meryton, including the Long's and the Lucas'. Many of Bingley's friends from London had made the journey. Several of whom Darcy claimed as friends as well. In all there was _well_ over four and twenty families sitting about the room. They had all come to celebrate the engagement of Jane Bennet to Charles Bingley.

On a lounge in good view of the piano was Elizabeth sitting next to her sister Kitty, quietly talking. He had not been able to speak to her privately. They had only seen each other in company since his return from London with his sister. They had had no opportunity to talk beyond the general topics of a polite drawing room. It had been the frustration caused by this that had forced him to take such drastic measures.

Placing the violin under his chin he nodded to his sister and began to make minute adjustments to his violin. The noise of the room quickly rose in anticipation. Apart from those who had been at Pemberley, very few of those assembled tonight had ever known Mr Darcy to be musical. Elizabeth looked up to see Mr Darcy tuning his violin and she smiled in genuine delight. Her smile was all it took for all the tension that had been seizing him to dissipate in a breath. The babble of the guests soon died away. He took one last look at Elizabeth before he nodded to his sister to begin.

He played with his heart and soul. From the first refrain she listened, gripped by the emotions that assailed her. As he watched he could see the understanding dawn on her. She stilled, her eyes widened. She looked fervently around the room for a moment certain that every person in assembled must know exactly what had happened between them. Then she realized that no one but the two of them would know what the song was truly about. This song was for her.

Her eyes welled when she listen to the love he felt, the anguish that he had endured. She smiled in forgiveness as he admitted the arrogance of his proposal. She laughed quietly to herself as he portrayed their awkward meeting at Pemberley. So true was the music to the event that she was able to close her eyes and recall each line of their clumsily conversation. She listened as he told her of his search for her sister and Wickham. Her eyes widened as he portrayed his conversation with his aunt. Throughout it all, throughout the entire piece she heard the consistency of his devotion. Then her eyes filled with tears as she slowly heard something she had scarcely heard before in the entire piece. Hope.

In the last refrain, he looked at her. The violin played alone a questioning tune, the piano was silent. As the last note died away a tear slipped down her cheek.

When the applause had finished the siblings took their final bow and curtsy. Elizabeth watched them surreptitiously as they make their way around the room accepting their accolades. Before long the siblings came to stop at the lounge where she a Kitty were sitting. Mr Darcy assisted his sister to the chair next to the two ladies before taking a space on the lounge next to Elizabeth. They sat, politely listing to the next young lady who had been invited to entertain the guests. Elizabeth heard very little of the Scottish folksong, she had yet to recover from the emotional journey that his song had evoked in her.

Elizabeth became gradually more aware of the gentleman sitting next to her. She could sense every movement, every breath. She could smell his cologne. Feeling light headed she placed her hand on the lounge next to her and endeavored focus on the performance before her. Moments later she sensed rather than saw Mr Darcy shift himself slightly as if to focus more intently musician before them. The shield his body created hid from the room the fact that his hand was now on the lounge, not quiet touching Elizabeth's left hand.

Neither moved, neither breathed. They did not look at each other but all their focus was suddenly on the lounge between them. They could feel the rich fabric under their hands, the firm cushioning of the lounge. Nervous, Elizabeth started to trace the pattern in the fabric with her fingers. Her hand did not move but her fingers caressed that pattern under them. She felt the long and the short strands of the fabric beneath her fingers. Her left pinky traced a circle under its pad. Around and around it went until on one rotation it brushed skin lightly.

Her fingers froze, resting with there barest of space from his hand. Within a moment the hand next to hers started moving just as hers had. His fingers tracing the pattern of the lounge coming within a hairsbreadth of hers.

It was compulsion more that conscious thought that forced her to move her hand into the path of his fingers. As his fingers traced the pattern it brushed slowly over her skin, but his movement did not pause. His fingers traced around the pattern until their fingers touched again. This time the caress lingered longer, softer and with more purpose. Then his fingers traced the pattern once more. She moved her hand closer still and this time as their hands met he did not move on.

She could feel the warmth of his skin from the tips of his fingers brushing over hers. She could feel the cool metal of his signet ring. His slow movements made her heart race and her mind haze over. Then through her clouded mind she began to realise that his caress had focused on a small part of her hand. Back and forth his finger moved, caressing between the second and the third knuckle of one single finger. Her ring finger.

She looked up at him. His face was lowered, focused on the hands between them. He quietly hummed the final refrain of the song. Such longing, such love, but over all she heard the question. She eyes dropped to their hands and she gasped as she finally understood.

"Yes" she breathed. His hand paused and he looked up uncertain. "Yes" she repeated. The transformation to his countenance was spectacular as a smile lit up his face. The polite applause from the guests as the young lady musician took her bows pulled them out of their private moment.

They took advantage of the quiet chatter and movement about the room of musicians and waiters. By unspoken agreement he rose and offered her his arm. His hand rested over hers in the crook of his arm. His fingers continued to subtly caressing her hand. They slowly made their way around the perimeter of the room. There were a few eyes that glanced at them as they proceeded about the room. None paid them any mind as they moved towards an open window at the rear of the room, the lady looked a little flushed. As they stopped near the window and faced each other the guests attention was drawn back to the new performers who were taking their position at the front of the room.

He caressed her left hand with both of his. He said something too her, in a low and earnest tone that none but her could hear. Her response with nothing short of surprising, her joyous unrestrained laughter drew the eyes of the entire room for a moment.

"In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you." he had said to her, his eyes betraying not only his humor but his nervousness. Then she laughed, that joyous sound reverberated throughout the room. He bit his lip, unsure, still uncertain about her response, regardless of the certainty that he felt moments ago on the lounge.

When the musicians started the introduction of the song the eyes of the room had turned from them. She lifted her free right hand to his face. Their eyes met and held. At the front of the room the performer begun in a clear rich voice. Softly, so only they could hear, Elizabeth sang as well "Voi che sapete che cosa e amor. Donne, vedete s'io l'ho nel cor."

"You who know what love is," She serenaded him softly "see if I have it in my heart".

A sigh, almost like a sob, escaped him as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. They stayed like that for an eternity.


End file.
